The joy of journaling

I remember the night I started my first illustrated journal. My small son was three, and to pull back a couple of hours of child-free time in the evenings after I’d put him to bed I knew I wanted a channel for my creativity and a way to reclaim my sense of self. I loved and still love being a mum, but my son became part of my life I’d had a job in writing, photography and design, and I missed that creative release.

I’d been reading about Danny Gregory’s work and found it inspiring, starting an illustrated journal seemed like an easy way for me to scratch my creative itch that wouldn’t need any special materials beyond a sketchbook and some pens and pencils.

The biggest obstacle would be the blank page. It can be quite scary to look at a fresh clean sheet of paper and feel responsible for bringing it to life. So, my first drawing as part of this new journey was a sketch of the remote control, done on a scrap piece of paper, and then glued in to the book.

That was 8 years ago, and I’m now into my 81st sketchbook. After that first sketch, I’ve gone on to make drawing and diaryising part of my daily life. These books have been with me through the ups and downs of the last near-decade of my life, including a house move, Covid, job loss, my son growing into a double-figure human, and a new relationship. Picking up a pen and a sketchbook on one night, sitting on the sofa, drawing a remote control was one of the best decisions of my life. I can’t imagine that I’d have been able to cope with the vagaries of my mental health and the tides of living without a journal to act as friend and confidante.